Today is Ayn Rand's birthday.
Yesterday was Andrew Breitbart's birthday.

Although one day I will get to writing a piece for Ayn, this year I wrote one for Andrew.

The piece is written in "Heroic Meter", which can be a little hard to read.
If you would like to hear it recited while you read, there is a sound cloud feed at the link for this post.

Feel free to comment on the piece here and at my blog: you can comment with a google, disqus, or facebook id.
Also, feel free to share the link to this piece on social media.

If you would like to copy this piece and post elsewhere, please include the copyright notice and the link to the original piece.

Lastly, Kaila (khalling) has proposed doing an AMA (Ask me anything) with me in regard to political satire.
If this is something which you are also interested in (or not), please give your yea or nay below.


"Andrew" - a new work from Papa Possum.

Enjoy, or not.

--------------------

Andrew
(I am.)

Hear now, Historia, notion to faithfully write of a Hero, with
language befitting your pages, with meter befitting the subject – a
man who opposed stood to tyrants as Moses opposed stood to pharaoh, as
Spartacus 'posed stood to senate – this pen guide, however imperfect. Mere

verses, a song now of Andrew – a warrior happy and loyal to
Liberty's Song of our Morning, to Us without Representation, to
Us the leviathan shackled for sake of a ruling class royal, to
Us the new heirs of Aeneas, to Freedom again for this nation. He

battled the enemy fearlessly; laughed at their venom and power: he
battled the agents of soros, he battled the minions of piven, he
battled the media biased, he battled the ivory tower, he
battled the cowards established – relentlessly Andrew was driven. He

suffered the slings and the arrows. He suffered the marxist invective. Con-
sidered them badges of honor; responded with mirth and derision, en-
raging the ruling class further because he was so damned effective: in-
spiring millions to battle against Constitution's rescission. Un-

til he collapsed on a sidewalk, alone in the darkness of midnight. He
never awakened thereafter and quietly passed in the morning. Some
say that he died of exhaustion: the toll of political street fight; some
say that a hand in the shadows put end to his ruling class warning. Re-

gardless, he died for our Freedom, a morning he won't be perceiving – as
promised land Moses saw never. Regardless, he died in our battle, a
Hero of our fair Republic, an honor he won't be receiving from
ruling class thinking us servile – as senate thought Spartacus chattel. A

life that's well lived can be measured by legacy, influence, meaning: a
bounty that Death can not sickle, an afterlife here with the living, a
promise the torch will be carried on after the mourning and keening, and
Andrew left gift that our ruling class could not prevent him from giving. Mere

verses, a song now of Andrew, a toast to him, tea and a dram:
“Hear now, Historia, millions of voices shout, 'Andrew?... I am!'”


Andrew, Copyright © 2015 Papa Possum

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Hear the audio stream here: http://papapossum.blogspot.com/2015/02/a...